


Baby Boy

by AndWeMutate



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sex Cam Worker Peter Parker, Spideypool - Freeform, Voyeurism, Webcam/Video Chat Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:15:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29631027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndWeMutate/pseuds/AndWeMutate
Summary: "No one ever told Peter the life of a superhero involved being hungry all the time and having to worry about being homeless. A warning would have been nice."Rent is way past due and Peter is running out of options. He needs a quick way to make some money and he thinks he's discovered something via a pop-up ad.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 13
Kudos: 252





	Baby Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SpidarPool](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpidarPool/gifts).



> Written for my Spidey-bb for Christmas. 
> 
> She had given me this idea quite a bit ago over Twitter and it lived in my head for months and months until I finally let it loose and, well, tada lol. Because of my Spidey-bb, I've grown to really love and appreciate writing for Spideypool. It's really fun to explore these two over and over again :]
> 
> Mandatory 'This is PS4 Spider-Man Peter Parker' because he's my favorite to write and, well, he's legal so....lawl But, let's say pre-PS4 Miles Morales because Peter actually had his shit together in that game, just a little bit.

Peter needed money. Rent was due, eviction looming over him and he needed money like...two months ago. He couldn’t balance all of the part-time, dead-end jobs and being your friendly neighborhood webslinger and he wasn’t going to ask MJ for another cent. He was getting tired of bumming fries off of MJ’s plate, tired of intruding on Miles’ family dinners and he wanted to prevent his stomach from eating itself from the inside out. He had to do something. 

No one ever told Peter the life of a superhero involved being hungry all the time and having to worry about being homeless. A warning would have been nice. 

At first, he kept pursuing jobs a high schooler would be better suited for; take out delivery, paper routes...anything that was low-commitment, but it was always a poor fit. Pizzas and lo mein in crushed boxes and damaged cartons, scattered throughout the city streets and newspaper pages dangling on tree branches and littering people’s lawns. Something came up. It was always something. 

The eviction notice took him by surprise this time. He’d managed to work things out with his landlord a few times before, but it seemed like he was finally ‘sick of Peter’s shit’, as he so eloquently put it. He had a week to pay the rent in full or he was back to couch surfing, back to sheepishly asking MJ to buy dinner for him…

Peter couldn’t do it, not again.

So, he took to the internet. Going door to door down the busy New York City streets wasn’t working so maybe the world wide web would expand the search enough that something would just...click? When were things ever that easy? 

The usual stuff was abundant; sketchy MLM-style scams, babysitting gigs (he wasn’t in the business of endangering innocent children, thank you very much) and minor, miscellaneous jobs that wouldn’t exactly mesh with web slinging. The more Peter scrolled, the more hopeless it felt. Being Spider-Man was something he couldn’t give up but it didn’t pay the bills. He just needed something quick, something manageable. 

Something legal. 

Peter mindlessly clicked on a link from the eighteenth page of the search engine and it instantly summoned a pop-up. From his speakers poured sultry moaning and enticing giggles. “Oh, geez,” Peter exclaimed, scrambling to exit out of the window. However, something willed him to just...stop and look. Just look.

‘Cam girls’. That’s what the pop-up said in large, bubblegum pink lettering. He turned the sound down as he looked at the women on the screen who surely lured many a man to surrender their credit card information. They were attractive, Peter supposed. Not his type, but they had curves in all the right places and large, uh, assets. The two women learned into the camera and offered the viewer a wink and a smile. “Watch us live anytime,” the ad proclaimed, “and we’ll make your dreams come true.” 

Oh, you’d pay Peter’s rent and put every super villain who threatened him under lock and key? Sign him up.

Leaning back in his chair, Peter took a long, hard look at the ad, reading the text over and over again. His train of thought quickly sped out of control and his eyes widened.

No.

But, it’s doable. It really is.

Absolutely not. 

It could be anonymous, right? Wear a mask, just like Spider-Man. No one would know. He didn’t have any tattoos or distinguishing marks. A few bruises here and there, a faded scar or fifty. 

Why are you still considering this?

The money had to be good, right? Why would people do it otherwise? Maybe he could tap into a niche sort of community? He had a decent body, didn’t he? Good enough to make this work...even just for a little while. Just until he could find something else…

At least sleep on it!

Alright. Fair. Peter finally closed the pop-up and sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his palm. Too many thoughts, too much noise, all at once. Maybe a good night’s sleep would usher in some clarity. Desperation often led to dangerous ideas, so maybe the quiet nothingness of sleep would offer him some sort of...something?

Peter piled himself into bed, head heavy and body sore. For a few long, quiet moments, he stared at the ceiling above him and fought to keep his eyes open. He always struggled with turning his brain off, thoughts so impossibly loud, an unpredictable sequence of syllables and static. However, he forced it all down, satisfied with the muffled mumbling, and gave himself over to sleep.

~*~

It took him a few days to pick out the right website. Some of them were...questionable to say the very least. He’d decided on a more private site to start, something that discouraged large group rooms and focused on a more one-on-one experience. He’d done a bit of research (because of course he did) and for beginners, private sites were a good way to gain some experience and confidence while learning what to expect and what he’d have to provide. 

Peter’s heart had never stopped racing once he’d decided to do this. This was a decision he had to make alone, having no one to talk to about this particular new venture. There was no way in hell he could talk to MJ or Miles about it, no possible way, and he had a very short list of friends, none of which Peter would burden with this. He just had to shoulder this alone, like he did most things. It was fine, really.

It really wasn’t, but he chose to tell himself that over and over again, just until he believed it.

He took his time setting up his webcam, adjusting it meticulously so his face was just in frame. Even after deciding he’d wear a mask to help obscure his face, he still wanted to make sure he remained as anonymous as possible, making sure nothing on his apartment walls or room would reveal his identity. He needed that anonymity so desperately and he clung to it so tightly. If he was going to do this, commit to this insane idea, all he asked for was his privacy. If he could hold on to just that, dignity and decency be damned, it would all be worth it.

Right?

Right.

He took a deep breath, clicking through the website he’d chosen to host his...first day on the job. He’d futzed with the lighting in his apartment, made his bed and headboard look a little more presentable, inviting even...he was ready. His mouth was dry and he caught his fingers twitching nervously but he had to dive in at some point, didn’t he? Get his feet wet? He had to start sometime...so why not now?

He logged himself in, staring begrudgingly at the nickname he’d chosen for himself, the guise he’d wear through this journey. Baby Boy. It was silly, wasn’t it? Everything else he considered always came back to his identity as Spider-Man. Logic was tossed to the sidelines and the creative side would not function. Spider in another language? Too obvious. Something involving his suit colors, red or blue? Not as obscure as he’d like to believe. The word ‘web’ in any context? Don’t you dare. Everything cycled back to Spidey. So, he had to abandon that train of thought and just let go. For just a few minutes, he had to unclench his jaw, loosen his shoulders and let go. 

He couldn’t be Spider-Man and he couldn’t be Peter Parker. He had to be someone, something, else. 

It was the first thing that came to mind. Letting his thoughts float freely through the void, searching for something detached from his alter ego, he chose the first feeling, the first cluster of words, that felt right. He chose something that felt so disconnected, so distant, from Spider-Man. In a way, he was crafting yet another alter ego, a different mask to wear. 

Speaking of masks…

Peter reached over to his nightstand and tugged open the small drawer to retrieve a small, simple blue mask. Yeah, yeah, blue was one of the colors he fought to distance himself from, but MJ once told him that blue was ‘his color’, saying it suited him, and that had always kind of stuck with him. So, he relented and purchased an inconspicuous little mask from a costume shop downtown. They had a few different designs, some more theatrical, some heavily embellished, others a bit more humble. Peter was drawn to one that was just a touch lighter than the navy blue of his suit, one that covered his eyes and the top of his nose. Effective, no-nonsense...it was just enough.

With a heavy sigh, he put it on. His chest tightened and his heart nearly burst. This was real. Peter was really doing this. This wasn’t a thought on the subway or a wild daydream while walking in the park. This was Peter Parker’s new and inescapable reality. 

Resigning himself to that, he went live.

Anticipation threatened to drive Peter insane. He waited patiently, quietly, for a patron to take interest in him. He felt like an awkward adolescent, waiting for someone to ask him to dance. That was the one downside of the private room route; the waiting was excruciating. He fidgeted nervously, eyes trained on the screen. Time slowed and apprehension crept in. Had he done the right thing? Was this realistic? Did he jump into this too quickly? Was this just another patented Peter Parker misstep?

_ DoubleDoubleU has entered the chat.  _

Peter’s eyes went wide. Panic set in quickly, too quickly, and he did his best to shove it deep down, as far down as he could. It’s showtime.

“Hey there,” Peter hummed nervously. He couldn’t catch his breath. This was really happening. Really, really happening. God. Oh, God.

_ > Hey, baby boy. Looking nervous. First time? _

Reading the message, he chuckled sheepishly. “That obvious?”

_ > Little bit. Cute, though. You’re cute. _

He felt his face flush, cheeks burning. Nervously shifting on the bed, he rubbed the back of his neck and offered the camera a shy smile. “Well, I appreciate that,” he replied, feeling the tension in his shoulders beginning to melt away bit by bit. “So, what can I call you?” Personalize the experience. He’d read that.

_ > W’s fine, baby boy. _

Okay, okay...simple enough. He didn’t want to push or pry, so W it is. Whoever W was, they seemed nice? Maybe that was foolish of him to assume, but first impressions meant something, didn’t they? W wasn’t belligerent or forceful to start and that put Peter at ease. He’d read a few horror stories on some forums, so this was a bit of a relief. 

“Alright, W...it’s nice to meet you,” he said calmly, softly. The world felt like it was spinning completely out of control but he had to steady himself. He didn’t expect this dizziness, this sensation of being ejected from his own body. A storm was brewing and he was in the middle of it with W but he had to accept this new sense of calm that was beginning to blossom slowly, surely. “What can I do for you tonight, W?”

There was a pause and it felt eternal. Waiting for W to type their reply, Peter’s mind raced. There were a million things W could say, a million things they could ask for. This was uncharted territory for Peter. While not a prude by any means, his research had warned him of potentially persistent patrons and some rather racy requests. Aware of the risk, he inhaled and awaited W’s reply.

_ > Tell me about yourself. Let me get to know you a little bit, baby boy. _

What a...simple request. It took him by surprise, if he was being completely honest.

_ > Wasn’t expecting that, huh? You look a little shocked. _

He nervously chuckled, “I mean...I guess I expected people just wanting to...get down to business, if that makes sense.” Looking directly into the camera, he offered W a little smile. 

_ > What can I say? I’m a simple guy. I see a pretty face and I’m hooked. Nothing wrong with wanting to get to know a pretty face, is there? _

“Pretty face? You know what they say about flattery, don’t you?”

_ > Oh, I do. I’m just hoping it actually gets me somewhere this time ;) _

In a weird way, Peter felt like he was talking to an old friend...a flirty old friend but a friend nonetheless. There was something so familiar about this anonymous entity, this ‘simple guy’ who thought Peter had a pretty face. There was a moment of intense panic, considering that this familiarity wasn’t purely coincidental. What if he knew this person on the other side of the screen? 

Then again, the only two people he talked to these days were MJ and Miles. Peter tried not to get too close to anyone else. Arms length and all that. He let that clawing paranoia subside, at least for now, as he returned his attention to this charming, shameless flirt.

“Well,” Peter began, mindlessly running his finger tips down the center of his bare chest. “I’m interested in knowing where you want this to go.” His heart threatened to leap out of his mouth. Peter was not a flirt by nature, MJ could attest to that. He was awkward at times and unsure of his own charm or sexual appeal, if any even existed at all. He was way out of his comfort zone but had to commit. This was it.

_ > I like where this is going already, baby boy. Keep going. _

A shiver rolled down the base of his spine. He wasn’t screwing this up? He was...actually doing alright? That acted as a bit of a confidence boost for him and he pushed himself forward. Emboldened by W’s interest, his fingertips danced past his belly button, tracing the rim of the boxers he wore, the only thing that adorned him other than his mask. Teasingly, a finger disappeared between his boxers and his skin. 

_ > Tell me something nobody knows about you...and keep those hands moving. Your body’s fucking amazing. _

He could almost hear a groan through W’s text and, unexpectedly, it caused Peter’s insides to twist and tighten. He hadn’t noticed, but he was having trouble catching his breath. Huh. That came out of nowhere. One hand remained hidden beneath his boxers while the other roamed upward, open palm smoothing over his abdomen. Peter opened his mouth to speak, but a soft groan exited instead. Catching himself before he drifted further into self-satisfaction, he exhaled his response, “I can’t pay my rent...which is why I’m here.” His face flushed, red hot embarrassment washing over him. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes, Peter just had a huge foot-in-mouth problem but W asked for something no one else knew so…

_ > That so? I have no problem paying your rent, baby boy, but you gotta promise to make more of those noises for me. Cause that was...that was perfect.  _

This was insane. Absolutely nuts. He’d offered this stranger an accidental groan and his toned, though slender chest, and he was willing to solve most of his problems, just like that? Of course, that was the idea from the very start but this seemed too easy? Peter assumed he’d have to do an unsavory thing (or two) to make the ends meet, but this? This seemed too simple.

Which must have reflected in his face, judging by W’s quickly typed reply.

_ > You alright? Looking a little...surprised.  _

Peter had to refocus. In essence, this was a job. He had a job to do and he couldn’t keep spacing out, couldn’t keep overthinking each and every instance. Still, looking into the camera and knowing that the person on the other side of the screen was looking back at him, willing to help him through something that had caused him so much strife, something that he caused him to lose so much sleep...it just astounded him, he guessed.

_ > You’re not used to asking for help, are you? _

Peter chuckled wryly, “Not at all,” he admitted a little too quickly, averting his gaze momentarily. “I want to be the one helping, the one people come to, not the one who has to run to people with his tail between his legs. I’ve always wanted to be strong…” Which is why his day (and night) job as Spider-Man was so important to him, why he couldn’t give it up, no matter how it twisted his body, how it battered and bruised him. To protect the people he loved, the people in this amazing city, he’d do whatever it took.

_ > Well, I want to help you. I’ll be good to you, baby boy, if you’re good to me. Sound good? _

He chewed at the inside of his cheek as he read W’s reply. As long as Peter was good to W, whatever that might mean, W would help take this heavy burden off of his shoulders? W didn’t know Peter from a stranger in Central Park and yet…

Okay.  _ Okay _ . 

The tension disappeared from his shoulders and his expression softened. He realized now that he’d jumped into this a little too quickly, a few too many apprehensive thoughts clawing at his insides. Peter had become more than desperate and that created urgency, something he could not outrun or escape. He was bold when he perhaps should have been cautious and he was suddenly acutely aware of his current position; nearly naked in front of a webcam, exposing his pathetic story in fragmented bits and pieces to someone who could be a million miles away or two doors down. Yet, oddly enough, he was not uncomfortable with this. Instead, he was almost...at peace with it, at peace with W and this proposed agreement

“I’ll be good to you,” Peter said softly, “I’ll be  _ very _ good to you.”

There was a short pause, Peter wondering if perhaps he had gone too far. That wasn’t the case at all. 

_ > Show me. Show me how you make yourself feel good, baby boy. _

Peter exhaled. He stopped overanalyzing, stopped considering the consequences. Abandoning any second thoughts that may have remained, he angled his hips and relinquished his last line of defense, his boxers. He did his best to remain in frame as he tossed them out of sight and returned to his position, front and center. Cheeks tinted a softer shade now, he leaned back against his headboard, closed his eyes and guided his hand down, down, down. 

He shuddered as he wrapped the fingers of his right hand around his cock. A wave of heat rolled through his body, a familiar sensation that he welcomed with open arms. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t assume this exact position (sans the webcam, of course) and relieve some tension after a long, long night of web-slinging. He wore his tension without complaint but when his back ached and his limbs felt like jelly, he found that falling into a nearly silent state of heightened awareness and hyper sensitivity helped put him at ease. The world outside was deafening, so the act of losing himself in fluid motion and disjointed grunts tended to help him in a way nothing else seemed to. He never claimed to understand it and for the most part, he was okay with that. 

Starting off slow and steady, which was par for the course, Peter’s thighs twitched. He was a creature of habit but it worked out just fine for him. He shifted slightly, widening his stance just a bit, tilting his head to the side as his mind began to swim.

Logic dictated that Peter should check in with W, leave him with a wink or some flirty turn of phrase, but he was sinking fast. Eyes closed, jaw slack, hand intermittently trembling as he stroked himself, Peter was granting himself this private moment without hesitation. In the back of his head, the very back that was obscured by a thin, humid haze, he was aware of his audience of one, even if the thought phased in and out of existence. The thought reappeared out of nowhere and the realization made him throb in the palm of his hand.

He...hadn’t quite expected that. 

Being watched, being caught, as Spider-Man was absolutely unacceptable, horrifying in its own way. It simply could not happen yet the thought of being exposed, bare naked and ridiculously vulnerable, sent a shockwave of something indescribable up the base of his spine. It felt like whiplash, sudden and jarring. The all-seeing webcam offered W a bird’s eye view of every twitch, every shudder and every moan. That knowledge caused Peter to bite his lower lip as he shivered. No one had seen him this way, not even MJ. No one had peeked behind the curtain to see Peter Parker fulfilling a very base, fundamental need. 

Before Peter realized it, he was panting and before he realized it, his hand was moving at a faster, more feverish pace. His strokes were long and full, from shaft to head, and his body craved more of the same. More, faster, don’t stop, his mind insisted. Everything around him was fading and he felt as though he were caught in some lucid dream, almost ethereal in nature.

But his reality clicked back into place when he opened one of his eyes to see a new message from W.

_ > You’re a thing of beauty, baby boy. Look at you. Christ, you’re perfect. Keep going. Treat yourself right, the way I’d treat you if I was there. _

Peter’s back arched, his hand stuttering in its fervent motion. W’s written words rattled around in his head, loud and heavy, searing into the walls of his mind. He hadn’t expected that. Then again, he hadn’t expected any of this, but that was beyond him at this point. Peter had never been talked to that way and it made his skin feel like it was on fire. Beauty? Perfect? What did W see in him that he was blind to? Was this really turning him on?

Well, W was helping wind Peter up so this feeling? Yeah, it was mutual. Very, very mutual. 

His fingers tightened around his cock, his new hastened pace causing Peter’s body to shake with each stroke. Is this how W would touch him? Would he have a gentle touch? Soft hands or worn, calloused ones? Would they be warm or did W run cold? Would he whisper praise or grunt admonishments? Drifting further into these ‘what-if’s’, Peter parted his lips and whispered, “W…” The letter, two simple syllables, felt natural somehow, as if they belonged here. For a split second, he considered the consequences of his decision, but as his thumb flickered over the tip of his erection, that all disappeared.

His body demanded more. Rolling his hips upward, it provided Peter with that sweet, mind-numbing friction. Right hand occupied, Peter’s left hand roamed his bare chest, grazing his nipple with the tips of his fingers, which caused a quivering little moan to tumble from his mouth. Hypersensitive, body on fire, he became a moaning, trembling mess and he simply did not care. Every moan, every shiver, each stroke belonged not only to Peter but to W. In an oddly erotic way, this moment was theirs. 

Thrusting his hips upward into his hand faster and faster, Peter lost himself in this thick, heated haze. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and his body tensed and arched into the intensity ricocheting through his entire being. His toes curled and his jaw went slack, wave upon wave of raw, controllable need slamming into him at every angle. Peter was drowning, panting and gasping for air, but still, he begged for more, content to drown. Desperation sank its teeth into him and refused to let go. It dictated Peter’s pace, the twist of his wrist, the feeling of floating. In broken syllables, a single letter continued to drip from his lips, quietly like a psalm but then louder, as if it were the gospel. Over and over, Peter called out for someone who wasn’t there, someone he wished was there, until all of a sudden, after a gutteral gasp and an intense feeling of weightlessness, he was still.

Peter tasted nickel on his tongue. He only then realized he may have bitten his lip a little too hard. Whoops. Reality crashed into him at an alarming speed and an embarrassing amount of clarity settled in a little too quickly. Cheeks burning, he angled his gaze towards the webcam. He must have looked a mess; panting, hints of panic in his eyes.

> _ Deer in headlights look, huh? It suits you. _

Swallowing around the growing lump in his throat, Peter opened his mouth to reply, but wilted a bit, rubbing the back of his neck with his free (and much cleaner) hand, an almost bashful reaction.

> _ I mean...wow. Can’t really say much other than just...wow. Thanks for the show, baby boy. You sure this is your first rodeo? _

He took a deep breath, still struggling to catch his breath, and found himself smiling. It was a lopsided, crooked little smile and it made Peter look as though he hadn’t just masterbated over a webcam for an audience of one. It was softer, sweeter, and paired with the blush staining his cheeks, it didn’t quite seem to fit the mood and its many complexities. Then again, Peter Parker was a tangled web of complexities, so it managed to work, he supposed.

“I’m, uh, glad you enjoyed it,” he chuckled nervously. Awkwardness crept in slowly, causing Peter to struggle with maintaining eye contact with the camera.

> _ You even said my name. Well, a letter of it anyway. I’m flattered. _

He...he did that, huh? Multiple times, yeah. He reached over, just slightly out of frame, to grab a tissue from his nightstand, cleaning up the mess he’d made. “I...just wished you were here too, you know, help me out with this,” he said a little too nonchalantly, which he’d realized a little too late, leaning back into frame. Brushing a few strands of displaced hair back into place, he teasingly hummed, an air of whimsy in his tone, “Maybe next time?”

> _ I’d like that, baby boy. Maybe next time, I can make you say my name. _

There was a pause, a single moment, before Peter replied, “I can say your name now...if you want.”

The text box remained empty for a few moments and Peter considered the possibility that maybe he pressed this a little too far. Anonymity was such a valuable thing, he knew that more than anyone. Maybe after they interacted a little more, chatted for a little while longer…

> _ Wade. _

Peter’s eyes widened. Before he could reply, another message appeared.

_ > I’m Wade. Nice to meet you, baby boy. _

Huh. Wade. To some people, a name may not be as important, as private, but to Peter, his name, his identity, was such a precious thing. What W, rather Wade, had given him, whether he knew it or not, was special in its own way. 

His expression softened, his cheeks sore from smiling. “Nice to meet you too, Wade,” he said gently. There was a part of Peter that felt guilty, being unable to reciprocate and offer Wade his own name, but another part of him was relieved that he didn’t push him for it or demand his identity. A heavy weight seemed to lift from Peter’s chest. He may have even felt a flutter in the pit of his chest but he wouldn’t confirm or deny that. “Wade,” he said again, feeling his lips curl into a wider smile, “I like it.”

> _ Well, I like you, so we’re even. _

Okay, he felt that flutter. Couldn’t deny that one.

> _ You found yourself an admirer, baby boy. Consider your rent paid for a little while...but I hope that means you won’t be a stranger. _

“Would you miss me?” Peter asked teasingly, half-joking.

> _ Duh. I know you’d miss me, especially considering the way you moaned for me.  _

Peter’s face flushed, but he was somehow able to maintain a straight face. “I won’t make it so easy next time.”

> _ Looking forward to it. _

Peter logged off the cam site after a little wave, wishing his patron a good night. All at once, his chest felt tight, his head spun and the universe felt like it was tilted slightly to the left. Exhaustion hit him like a truck as he closed his laptop and carefully removed his mask, setting it on the nightstand. Falling back onto his bed, eyes darting back and forth across the ceiling, the only thing he thought to do was laugh.

“Holy crap…”

~*~

Wade remained true to his word and upon checking his account, Peter’s jaw nearly hit the floor. The rate on the site was nowhere near the current amount he had, so Wade must have tipped him a little too well for their session. He...he was safe for a little while. He didn’t have to worry about anything other than protecting New York. That realization was overwhelming. Wade...did an amazing thing for Peter and he may never truly know. Something about that made Peter a little sad. He should have done more, thanked him more.

A few days passed and Peter sat perched atop a building in Manhattan, watching over his fair city quietly. His thoughts were fragmented, chasing fleeting memories aimlessly. Admittedly, between a few armed robberies, Rhino escaping the Raft and a handful of high speed chases, his thoughts returned to Wade. No matter how hard he tried, when the world around him was quiet, Wade was the first thought to push through the silence. Did he live in the city? Across the water in a house or an apartment? Had Peter passed him on the street? Sat across from him at a diner or on the subway? It was maddening. Then again, Wade could be thousands of miles away. He may never know. 

Regardless, no matter the distance, baby boy knew that he wanted Wade to see him again...and again.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by me so I'm sure there's an eff up here, there and everywhere so sorry about that!


End file.
